


A Goddamn Imperial

by words_savedme



Category: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:22:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/words_savedme/pseuds/words_savedme
Summary: An Imperial shows up on the Thieves Guild’s doorstep.





	A Goddamn Imperial

“It’s all about sizing up your target, lass. What they’re wearing, how they walk. It’s a dead give away.” 

She remembers Brynjolf telling her this as she stood at the doors to the meadery, steeling herself to pickpocket a necklace from the waitress. 

Brynjolf had sized her up the second he saw her in the Ragged Flagon. She’s young, younger than he expected, and quiet. Silence is good for thievery.

He could tell she had never stolen in her life, nothing more than crumbs of bread or gold dropped on the ground. Her clunky stormcloak armor was too big for her shoulders and croaked as she walked. Brynjolf could have pickpocketed everything she had and she never would have known.

Now, in the Black-Briar Meadery, she’s wearing Thieves Guild armor. It fits, even hides her strange human eyes that shine too brightly for thieving to be simple. The Thieves Guild hasn’t had an imperial in their midst ever since the Empire has ruled. Imperials like to think they’re above stealing.

Brynjolf leaves as she goes inside, figures she’ll get caught and he’ll have to bail her out. 

Only she doesn’t. She catches up to him before he even enters the Ragged Flaggon and shoves the necklace into his hand, her cheeks pink and her breath coming fast. 

“I did it.” Brynjolf hides his grin. He tries not to be too friendly with the newbies, but it’s difficult to be harsh with her. Her wit is too quick and her words too choppy to do anything but make him grin. 

“Good. You can find more jobs from Vex and Delvin. I’ll see you later, Lass.” Brynjolf hoped to hang around longer, but he had other pressing matters to attend to.

Him and her tended to be out and about at different times. She would sleep in the sanctuary while he was in Markarth, and she would be in Whiterun while he was back home. 

When they did see each other again, though, she nearly hugged him. 

“Brynjolf!” He turned around, knew before he saw her who it was. She was the only newbie to yell across the bridge at a Guild leader. He didn’t mind.

“Lass.” He let her come to him, leaning against the wall and chewing on a piece of wheat. She had accumulated more weapons, an array of knives poking out underneath her gloves. Brynjolf was more of a sword man, but someone as small as her needed daggers. 

“How have you been?” It was such an odd question to ask a member, and Brynjolf chuckled.

“How have I been?” He trailed on, eyeing her under his hood. She had also accumulated a new scar on her left side, across her lip. “Well, I’ve been better. But I’ve heard of your jobs. You’re helping us out more than you know.” He nodded at her, and she beamed.

“Good.” They stood in silence for a few seconds before she snapped her fingers. “I almost forgot! I saw your rings last time we talked, and when I was in Falkreath I stole a couple that I thought would fit you.” She pulled a bag from her back pocket and dumped them into her hand.

Brynjolf almost choked on his spit. No one had ever gotten him a gift, let alone an expensive one—even if it had been stolen.

“Where did you steal these from?” He plucked the two rings from her palm, admiring the gold and emerald in the dim lighting. His heart pounded loudly, loud enough for him to have to swallow back his gratefulness. 

She shrugged. “You know, a couple houses. Do you like them?” He slipped them onto his finger, filling the empty ones that he had yet to find rings for. Like she had counted his rings beforehand. 

“Yes. Of course, Lass.” Brynjolf pulled his hood down so she could see his grin, and she exhaled.

“Good. It’s a thank you for letting me join. You don’t know how much this all means to me.” She looks down at the ground and toes it. 

Brynjolf eyes the room. Empty, except for Rune sleeping in the corner. 

“Aye, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Brynjolf reaches out and touches her scar with his thumb, her chin between his fingers. He hopes she understands the gesture, that to him she’s more than an employee. Maybe even more than a friend. “What is this from? A job?” 

He can feel her shake, stutter over her words a couple times. Brynjolf is close enough that he can see the sparkles on her face from Tonilia’s make up.

“Uh, no. An assassin was sent to kill me, actually. His knife missed.”she swallows, and Brynjolf clenches his teeth. The damn Dark Brotherhood promised to leave the Guild alone as long as the Guild paid their bails.

“Were you wearing your Guild armor?” She shakes her head. “You always must when traveling. In cities it’s okay to change, but you have to wear it on the road.” He traces her scar with his thumb, and her eyes close. Brynjolf would like to kiss her. Rune has left and the room is completely empty 

“Okay. I will.” Brynjolf hesitates. If he kisses her, he can’t pretend it never happened. He’ll see her again, no matter what, and maybe he doesn’t want just a kiss. Maybe he wants more.

“Good. I’ll see you, Lass.” He brushes his lips against her cheek, so lightly only a thief would notice. 

“Bye, Brynjolf.” He pulls his hood up as he leaves.

…  
When Brynjolf returns from the Dwemer ruins, thinner and weary, and a much better thief in the dark than the light, he heads straight for the Imperial’s home in Windhelm.

She’s in the Gray Quarter. He figures she likes the Dark Elves more than the Nords because of their less racist views toward her kind. 

He knocks on her door. He hears her scuffle to it, in a plain dress and her hair down. He hasn’t seen her in anything other than armor.

“Brynjolf.” She sighs his name, breathes it out like a breeze. Brynjolf sags, ready to fall into her now. His job is done, and he doesn’t have to leave ever again, and the Guild is up and running again. Everything is good.

“I missed you, Lass.” He feels like crying, feels the tears welling up. His armor is hot and sticky, but the air is cold. She nods back at him. He isn’t sure what he expects, but anything from her is a gift. 

“How did you get this?” She places her hand on his cheek and strokes the scar on his nose, gently. A thieve’s touch. 

Brynjolf’s tears fall. He knew from the moment she spoke he was screwed, would want her for the rest of his life. A goddamn Imperial, for Talos’ sake.

“It’s okay now.” She kisses his chin, and Brynjolf let’s her. When she pulls back, he cradles her head, looks at her strange eyes, and smiles.

“Aye, Lass. It’s better than okay.” Brynjolf kisses her on the mouth this time.


End file.
